


Heaven on Earth

by EnglishCivilWar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnglishCivilWar/pseuds/EnglishCivilWar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set right after 8x23. Castiel is lost, Sam is sick, and Metatron is doing God-knows-what now that the angels have Fallen. Plus, Abaddon's out searching for a vessel and looking to become Queen of Hell. Eventual Destiel. My interpretation of how season 9 might go (originally posted on ff.net - does not include recently released spoilers).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> (I originally posted this on fanfiction.net directly after the season 8 finale, so this doesn't include any of the new spoilers for the upcoming season)
> 
> Okay! So, this will be my first fanfic on this AO3, and I'm really excited! I've had to take a break from writing this story for about a month now, but I already have the first seven chapters written, so I'll be uploading those every day for the next week, then I'll continue on with chapter 8. I'm not the best writer in the world (and I'm certainly not as talented as most of the other fic writers out there) but I like writing, and I like TV shows, so...here I am!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! :)

Trees.

Night.

Dirt.

These are the first things the man registers as his eyes slowly slide open, adjusting to the minimal light. He blinks, feels the hard, solid Earth beneath his back. Stands. Sees that he is in a forest. He is confused.

  _What has brought me here?_ he thinks. _More importantly, who is 'me'?_

 For he remembers not who he is.

 He does, however, know that something is happening up ahead in the darkened sky. A rainstorm? Perhaps. He steps forward, peers closer. Begins to run. He notices that there are small specks of gold scattered throughout the atmosphere.

_What are they?_

 He is worried, frightened, sorrowful, yet he doesn't know why.

 That is, until the people start falling.

 It happens suddenly, as he is intently studying the stars. They burst out, men and women hurtling towards the planet at the speed of sound.

 The man inhales a sharp breath.

 He knits his eyebrows together.

 He cries.

 His memory comes flooding back, and he now realizes that the people falling are not strangers.

 They are his family.

 

 * * *

 

 Dean lets out a slow, stunned sigh as he watches the last of the angels crash into the ground. He stares into space, trying to understand what just happened. He _knows_ that the angels fell. He _saw_ it. Witnessed it with his own two eyes. But somehow, it just won't sink in.

 After a few moments, Sam gasps for air, and Dean whips his head around to face his little brother. _Crap,_ he thinks, shoving the thought of the falling beings aside to focus on the task at hand.

 “Okay, Sammy, just listen to me. I need you to listen to me. Can you hear me?” Dean asks, propping Sam up against the car.

 “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Sam manages. He winces in pain.

 Dean grimaces. “Damn it,” he says. “Alright, hold on. You'll be okay. I promise, you'll be okay. You have to be.” Dean wraps an arm around his brother's middle and pulls him up, throwing open the Impala's door and laying Sam down in the backseat before turning back to the church.

 He marches in, stopping when he reaches Crowley, who still sits, gazing out the window.

 "Did-did hundreds of angels just plummet to Earth?” he asks in his thick English accent.

 Dean rolls his eyes and nods, moving to retrieve the handcuff keys from the table.

 Crowley cackles, snapping his head back. “Well, that's just bloody brilliant! Good job you did there!” he exclaims.

 Dean angrily turns back to him. “Can you just shut up for five seconds so that I can THINK?!” he yells, unchaining the king and handcuffing him to Dean's own hand before slicing open the Devil's Trap.

 Crowley lets out a small huff, letting Dean drag him out of the building and to the car. He sits primly in the passenger seat as Dean turns the key and drives onto the highway.

 After a while, the demon flips the radio on. A newscaster excitedly talks about the “falling stars”, saying they appeared all over the globe. Dean shakes his head at that.

 “Thousands of 'em,” he sighs, making a left turn.

 “Oh well,” Crowley responds, raising his eyebrows as if he doesn't care at all.

 Dean glances at him. “So, what, are you back to your old self? Did the 'purifying' shit or whatever fade away?”

 Crowley looks out the window. “I don't know,” he confesses after a minute. “I feel...different, I suppose, but not completely 'human' by your standards. Perhaps it'll just take a bit more time, considering your dear Moose backed out of the trial at the last second. I do feel...guilty? I think. I'm not sure. What do you want from me?” he quips.

 Dean lifts a hand in a “don't shoot” gesture. “Calm down, I just want to know what the hell is going on,” he replies.

 “Don't we all,” Crowley mumbles. He returns to staring at the flashing scenery.

 

 * * *

 

His throat is parched.

 His legs are tired.

 He feels weak.

 Sick.

 Hungry.

He is...human.

 Castiel is human.

 His mind is all a muddle, a blur of thoughts and feelings and new, unfamiliar emotions and sensations. It takes all of his concentration to be able to stumble along the road as he has been doing for the last 5 hours.

 He needs to find a town.

 A city.

 SOMETHING.

 He needs a phone.

 He wants to collapse, to give it all up. He feels as if he cannot go on.

 But he must.

 Not for him.

 For Sam.

 

 For Dean.

 

 * * *

 

 Dean slows the Impala to a stop, glancing out the window at the bunker. He stops, something catching his attention.

 All the lights are off.

  _Damnit, Kevin._

 He gets out, pulling a bored Crowley along with him, and drags Sam out of the backseat. He gulps nervously when he sees his little brother's state; the younger Winchester is pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and blood covering his face. His body is cold, but his forehead is burning up when Dean checks. He shakes his head, wraps Sam's arm around his neck, and careens into the building, yanking the two other men behind him.

 He fiddles with the light switch for a bit until the room is slightly visible.“KEVIN!”he yells.

 “I'm up here, Dean!” a voice shouts back.

 Dean unlocks the metal restraint from his wrist before cuffing Crowley's other hand, then half carries Sam to his room.

 He carefully helps Sam out of his jacket and shoes and delicately lays him on the bed. He gingerly places the blanket on top of him, checks to make sure he's still breathing, and quietly leaves.

 Dean pads to Kevin's room and gently opens the door, where he is faced with the sight of the young man cowering in the corner. Dean rushes over, alarmed.

 “What happened?” he inquires, hauling Kevin to his feet and checking him over for wounds.

 “I don't know, Dean. One minute the place is quiet, the next there's this rumbling sound and all the lights start blinking and making these weird noises and then the glass started shattering and it-it sounded like something – not rain, not any kind of precipitation – something was falling from-from the SKY,” Kevin says, his voice quavering with repressed hysteria.

 “Yeah, it was the angels,” Dean replies, gazing around the room for damage. “Metatron kicked 'em all out of heaven.”

 “Metatron?” Kevin asks. Dismay begins to cloud over his face. “You mean he really was working against us this entire time?”

 “Yep, basically,” Dean confirms. “You were right, those trials he was having Cas do weren't the real ones, the ones from the angel tablet. They were ingredients he needed to perform the spell to expel the angels.”

 “Oh,” Kevin responds. “And what about Sam and Crowley? Did you finish the trials on the demon tablet?”

 Dean sighs and rubs eyes. He was getting extremely weary of this entire situation. “No, because it also turns out that Naomi wasn't lying about Sam dying, either. I stopped him from completing the ritual, so hopefully he'll get better soon. I don't know what the deal is with Crowley.”

 Kevin stares at him. “So...all that work I did, translating the tablet, that-that was all for nothing? The gates of hell didn't close?”

 Dean blinks. “What? No, man, no, we're going to do the trials, we just need time to figure out how to do them without anyone ending up dead,” he stammers.

 Kevin looks at him, unsure. “Okay...” he says hesitantly. “So, where's Castiel? Did he-” Kevin's eyes widen in realization. “Did he fall, too?”

 Dean looks away, his throat closing at the thought. “I don't know,” he says after a while. “He vanished when I got to the church.”

 Kevin stares, slowly understanding.

 Dean glances at him again, gives him a fake smile and a quick nod, and strides back downstairs to deal with Crowley. But his mind is elsewhere.

  _Come on, Cas, where the hell are you?_


	2. The Prophet's Lament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this was written several months ago, from now on I'll be uploading with the current dates.

A sign.

He blinks, makes sure he's not hallucinating.

It's really there.

A sign.

He runs to it, gazing up at it as if it is the most precious thing in his world.

For the moment, it is.

He pulls away and reads it.

 

  
**Great Bend, Kansas**

**2 miles away**

  
Two miles.  
  
Just two more miles and he'll be able to stop.

He sighs, rolling his neck and shifting from foot to foot, attempting to regain some feeling. He's been walking for 7 hours without rest, and it is exhausting. He keeps feeling odd, alien sensations, such as wishing to close his eyes and lose consciousness (he supposes that is what humans call sleeping), and he is experiencing hunger. For all of his time as an angel on Earth, he has enjoyed food and drink, but never needed it. Now, he feels that if he doesn't have it, he will die. It is quite unpleasant.

He also must get used to carrying around so much weight. When this body was his vessel, it would act as a protective shield; it was much lighter than it normally should be, and it wasn't effected by trivial things like fatigue. Now, Castiel is really HERE. He can feel his blood pulsating through his veins, hear his heartbeat in his ears, sense the sweat trickling down his face. He is present; he can feel everything. As he walks, his legs trip and stumble, not familiar with the feeling of dragging along muscles and bones. When he was an angel, he floated through the world, as if in a dream; he has since been thrust into the cold waters of reality, the shattering truth that is being a human.

He shakes his head. He cannot be distracted with such thoughts and contemplations; he must move forward. His legs are awkward, unbalanced without the even distribution of his wings. It makes him feel...

He doesn't know.

  
* * *

  
“So,” Dean announces, stomping into the room. “Crowley.”  
  
“Yes, yes, I feel the same as I did hours ago,” Crowley interrupts, leaning over one of the books on the table. He looks up when Dean doesn't respond. “Well? What is it you want?”  
  
Dean pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “I want to know what the Hell I'm supposed to do with you.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, I can't let you out of those handcuffs, 'cause you're a freakin' demon. So, should I just let you crash here until I figure out a better idea?”

Crowley raises his eyebrows. “You know...” he says slowly, “I could, potentially, be of some use to you.”

Dean stares at him. “How?”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “I'm the King of Hell!” he shouts, rattling his cuffs. “I have spies everywhere! Spies that possibly know something about Metatron.”

“And how would they know that?” Dean scoffs. “Nobody knew anything about Metatron until Sam and I found him.”

“I have my ways,” Crowley says mysteriously.

Dean sighs. “Whatever. I don't have the energy to care right now. I'll just...set up a room for you, or something.”

Crowley shrugs. “Whichever floats your boat, Winchester,” he replies.

Dean screws up his face at him and shakes his head before heading to one of the empty rooms.

  
* * *

  
Bright.

Too bright.

Cannot see.

He shuts his eyes tightly, the flood of intense light painfully striking his dilated pupils. As an angel, this would not have affected him, for the celestial beings are able to adjust their eye hole size. But he is no longer an angel, so he must familiarize himself with this agonizing feeling.

He slowly opens his eyes and looks around the room. It is a motel lobby, he realizes. He had not noticed what building it was upon entering; he had only gone into the first structure he saw. He walks up to the man behind the desk.

“Hello, Sir,” he greets, his voice nothing but a whisper from disuse. “I have been traveling along the road for hours, now, and it appears that I am lost. Do you know distance from Great Bend to Lebanon?”

The man stares at him, then pulls a map out of the drawer on the end table behind him. He plops it on the desk. “'Bout a hundred 'n twenty miles. Two-and-a-half hour drive.”

Castiel picks up the map. “What is the time now?” he inquires.

The man glances at the clock. “Uh...3:30 in the mornin'. You got a car, man?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“Well, the next bus doesn't leave 'till 9:00, so you got a few hours to kill. Wanna book a room?”

Castiel takes a breath, then promptly lets it out. “I don't have any money,” he says sheepishly, fiddling with his coat.

The man squints at him. “Where're you comin' from?” he asks, curious.

“I don't know,” Castiel confesses. “I woke up in a forest right before all the ang-” he abruptly stops talking, catching himself. “The stars fell,” he amends.

“Oh,” the man says, his eyes widening. “Well...since you're under weird conditions, I'll give it to 'ya for free,” he offers. “Just this one night, though.”

“It's alright, you don't have to do that-” Castiel begins.

“I insist,” the man interrupts. He pushes the guestbook towards the edge of the desk.

Castiel sags his shoulders. “Thank you...very much,” he says awkwardly, and writes his first name in the book.

The man raises his eyebrows. “Ain't you got a last name?” he questions.

Castiel blinks. “...No?” he guesses. It hadn't occurred to him that, as a human, he would need a last name.

The man sighs and shakes his head. “Whatever,” he says. “Here's your key.” He hands Castiel a small card. “Room 103.”

Castiel nods and takes the card, thanking the man one more time before rounding the corner and walking down the hallway. He opens the door to his room and slowly sits on the bed, rubbing his hands on his face.

How does one fall asleep? he wonders, removing his coat and shoes. He tries to think back to the times when he watched Dean and Sam sleep. They had just...closed their eyes and laid down, right? So should he do the same?

He tries it, and marvels at how comfortable the mattress is. He closes his eyes and listens.

Listens to the sounds of the night outside his window.

The slow whine of the cars on the road.

The owls...hooting.

The...crickets...chirping...

The...

......

  
* * *

  
“Dean.”

Dean turns at the sound of Kevin's voice in the doorway, pausing from his work on what will soon be Crowley's room. It still feels odd calling it that.

“Kevin,” Dean says, stepping closer to the boy. “What is it? Something wrong?”

Kevin shakes his head. “No, I...I just...What am I supposed to do now?” he asks quietly, sitting on the bed.

Dean stares, then sighs and sinks down next to him. “Well, I was going to tell you tomorrow, but...we need you to translate more of the angel tablet.”

Kevin lets out a breath, shutting his eyes in frustration. “It's not fair,” he whispers tightly.

“I know, man, but life's not fair. In our line of work-”

“Shut up, Dean!” Kevin explodes, springing up from the mattress. “I thought it was over! I was finally gonna get out! Once I finished translating the stupid demon tablet, I could get back to my old life. You promised me! And after Cas yelled at me, after you guys went to the church and to the bar to do the other trials, I...I packed up my stuff to leave.” Kevin's voice is small now. Resigned. “And I was almost out the door, when...when the angels fell.”

Dean gazes at the wall, absorbing the information he just learned. He presses his palm to his forehead and inhales deeply, then stands and looks Kevin squarely in the face. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry you were the one chosen to be a prophet. I'm sorry you're mom is dead. I only told you you could get back to your old life to keep you going, and I'm really, really sorry, man. But you have to do this. It's your job, now. This is your life.”

Kevin rakes a hand through his hair. “Why does it have to be me?” he asks desperately, his voice filled with repressed emotion. “I don't want this. I didn't even get a choice!”

“What, you think I had a choice either?! You think this is my version of a perfect life?! Hell, no! I was forced into this, just like you! We all were! Whether it was revenge, or fate, or the freakin' apocalypse! And I tried, oh man, did I try to get out! But you know what? No matter how many times you try, you will always, and I mean ALWAYS, get sucked back into this mess. And after a while, you just have to face the fact that this is what your life is going to be like. Filled with blood, and pain, and everyone you've ever cared about dying.” Dean sucks in a breath and glares at Kevin with determination. “But there's always that one thing that keeps you going: you're saving people. People who are living the life you want. You're making sure that THEY still get to live that life. That at least SOME people in this world will get to be happy, even if it isn't you. That's why you have to do this, Kevin. For those people.”

Tears well up in Dean's eyes as he looks at the teenager in front of him. “Please, just translate the tablets. Figure out how to get the angels' grace back. Tell us how to close hell without killing my brother. 'Cause I can't take much more of this.”

Kevin takes a shaky breath. He nods, then steps forward and hugs Dean fiercely. And, after a moment, Dean squeezes back.

  
* * *

 


	3. Deal with a Demon

  
Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

All is still.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the quiet begins to break.

A bird is chirping, its melodic voice flying through the open window.

A long branch scratches against the outer wall of the motel, like the soft rubbing of fingers on the warm wood of a door.

The sounds soon become vibrant, filled with life and energy. They surround the room, the bed in which he slumbers, and press their kisses to his face, awakening him.

Castiel opens his eyes.

He stretches, still unused to the feeling of his newly realized muscles and bones popping and pulling, the blood flowing through his body. He rubs his eyes, attempting to rid them of their drowsiness, and walks to the attached bathroom.

He stares at himself in the mirror and begins to remember the current situation he is in. He has Fallen from Heaven, his Grace stolen from him. He is no longer an angel, but a human, as are the rest of his brothers and sisters. The last time he saw the Winchesters they were in mortal danger, with Sam on the brink of death and Dean about to lose his brother again. And he can't do a thing to help them or see if they are all right.

This frustrates him to no end. He tries to the point of exhaustion, but he is no longer able to pick up on their thoughts or pop in and visit them. Dean's prayers will go unheard. He slams his fist down on the sink, overcome with annoyance.

Shaking his head, he turns on the faucet and splashes his face with water, only to jerk back, alarmed. _Your angelic attention is gone,_ Castiel realizes, _so the acute awareness of the details of everyday life you had has vanished._ _You cannot feel the liquid as prominently as you did before, Castiel._ He repeats this to himself several times, trying to make it sink in. It pains him to think of the loss he has gone through, all of the wonderful sensations he will never feel again: the swish of a blade of grass as it rustles in the wind on the other side of the world, the flap of a butterfly's wings in the air high above, as if in slow motion.

He sighs; this is the price he must pay for his stupidity. He continues washing his face, then exits the bathroom and pulls on his tie and shoes. He checks the time – 8:30. He has half an hour to go before the bus arrives. Wrapping his beloved trenchcoat around himself, he slowly walks out the door and down the musty hallway.

As he rounds the corner, he becomes more and more aware of the faint smell of pennies. He sniffs, drawing his eyebrows together. Pennies... He searches through the vast file cabinet in his brain, trying to remember what brought on the smell of the packed copper. Suddenly, his eyes widen: Blood.

He races to the front desk, but upon reaching it, realizes he is too late. The man who kindly agreed to let Castiel stay for free the night before lies cold and dead over the front of his counter. Castiel lets out a slow breath of air, momentarily shocked, then rubs his fingers in circular motions on his temples. _What is it now?_ he thinks, irritation flooding through him. _I am far too occupied at the moment to deal with any monster._

A loud crash behind him breaks Castiel out of his inner thinking, and he turns. The crushed pieces of a glass vase cover the floor. He slowly lifts his eyes, and is met with the sight of a pretty brunette woman smirking down at him, holding a small dagger.

“Hello, Castiel,” she announces, offering him a hand.

Castiel hesitantly rises to his feet, rejecting her offer. “Who are you?” he questions, backing up several inches.

She smiles. “I am Abaddon.”

Castiel inhales a sharp breath. “Sam Winchester told me of you,” he mutters. “You are the demon from the past that the brothers killed, the one who destroyed the Men of Letters.”

“I prefer the term 'Knight of Hell', but yes, all true,” she declares.

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Why are you here? What do you want?” he demands, balling up his fists.

Abaddon shrugs. “Nothing, really, just a vehicle to get me where I need to be,” she says nonchalantly. She takes a step forward, her eyes maliciously flitting to Castiel's hand.

Castiel raises one eyebrow. “A vehicle?” he asks, confused. “Knights of Hell don't need means of transportation. They teleport.”

“Yes, but I don't know where my destination is,” she sighs. “You do.”

“...What destination?” Castiel challenges, an edge to his voice blatantly displayed.

She laughs. “Wherever the Winchesters are staying, of course.”

Castiel's eyes darken. “What do you want with-”

“Oh, relax, angel, I'm not after them,” Abaddon interrupts. “Well, usually I am, but not at the moment. I want Crowley, and I hear he's currently bunking with the boys.”

“Why do you need Crowley?” Castiel inquires, his suspicion obvious.

“I want to kill him,” she answers simply. “But to find him, I need to find the Winchesters, and for some reason I'm not able to locate them. So to do that, I need to ask their-” she pauses, uncertain for a moment of what to call Castiel. “-Their...guardian angel,” she finally decides.  
  
Castiel shuts his eyes tightly, sorrow sinking through him. “I am no longer their guardian angel,” he mumbles quietly. “As I am not an angel at all.”

Abaddon quirks her head to the side. “What?” she asks, confused. She shakes her head. “Oh, well. I'll just go with one of your brethren, then.”

Castiel steps forward. “You can't,” he says, his voice cracking. He lifts his eyes to the ceiling. “There are no more angels. They have all Fallen. It's my fault.”

“How?”

“My Grace was used in a spell that expelled them all from Heaven.”

Abaddon stares at him, unblinking. She slowly crosses to Castiel, and he meets her gaze steadily, accepting his punishment. She reaches out her hand and wraps it around his neck, lifting him easily into the air. He gasps for breath.

“You idiotic child,” Abaddon hisses, tightening her grip. She whips her other hand across his face and slices her nails through his cheek, then raises her dagger, seeing no further use for him.

Castiel's eyes widen. No. He cannot die. Not yet. He has to make sure Dean and Sam are all right. He's already caused so much pain and wronged too many people. He can't fail them. Not again.

He balls up his hands and pounds his fists on Abaddon's iron hold. “Wait,” he chokes, voice barely a whisper through the tightness on his throat. “Wait. I can still help. I know where they are.”

Abaddon wrinkles her brow. “But you cannot teleport me there,” she insists. Still, she lowers him and releases her grasp on his neck.

Castiel draws several deep breaths, attempting to get oxygen back into his lungs. “No,” he coughs, “but I can tell you where they are, and you can go there yourself.”

Abaddon circles him, toying with the idea. She stops short. “But how do I know you'll give me the right information?” she retorts.

Castiel bites his lip. She was too smart. “You don't,” he decides. “You'll just have to go and see for yourself.”

Abaddon laughs and places a hand on Castiel's shoulder. “Do you really think I would take that chance?”

Castiel fidgets with his coat. “No,” he says, finally.

Abaddon smiles. “Correct,” she says. “Which is why you are going to escort me there via public transportation.”

Castiel looks up. “What?” he asks, baffled.

Abaddon nods. “Oh, yes, we are traveling by the bus. Which, if my watch is right, should arrive in two minutes.”

Castiel sighs and rubs his hands on his face, then shrugs his shoulders, defeated.

“Excellent! Now, let's go, we wouldn't want to miss our ride, would we?” she calls over her shoulder, already halfway out the door. Castiel follows, hanging his head. _What are you going to do?_ he asks himself. _You can't actually bring her there. She'll kill Sam and Dean._

Once they are outside, however, Castiel senses an eery emptiness in the town.

No one is there.

Castiel clears his throat. “Where are all the people?” he asks suspiciously.

Abaddon grins and remains silent, then takes his hand and pulls him towards the oncoming bus. She yanks him up the stairs and sits him down.

“How do you know I won't just lead you somewhere else?” Castiel says softly, gazing out the window.

“Because,” Abaddon replies, flashing him her teeth, “if you do, I will kill you.”

  
* * *

  
The bunker is still.

Nearly everyone is asleep.

Dean silently shuts Sam's door after checking on him one last time before retiring to his own room. He creeps over to his bed, but instead of getting into it, he kneels beside it and folds his hands together.

_Hey, Cas,_ Dean prays, _It's been a few days since we last saw you, and I - I know praying's really stupid right now, 'cause if you're not dead, you're human, so either way you can't hear me, but –_ he takes a shaky breath _– it just makes me feel better, y'know?_ He inhales deeply before continuing.

_If you care, Crowley's kinda normal now. I mean, he's not human, but he's not the evil son of a bitch he was a week ago, so that's a start. You probably knew this already, but I stopped Sam from completing the trials, so the gates of Hell are still open. It all feels really hopeless right now. I mean, all that work we did, the trials, everything we accomplished this past year, and it all went down the drain. It's my fault, man. I should've found a way for him to finish the trials without – yeah._

_He wanted to do it. Did you know that? He was completely ready to die, to sacrifice himself for the world. And I was so selfish I stopped him. I didn't want him to go. I CAN'T have him go. I couldn't handle it for a week, there's no way I can handle it forever. But are my needs more important than the world's? No, they're not._

_But even though he's not dead, he's still sick. And I mean, REALLY sick. Like, can't get out of bed, hallucinating sick. He tells me it's getting better, but I think that's a load of BS. He can be a real idiot sometimes._

_So can you._

_I really – I really MISS you, Cas. I'm freakin' WORRIED about you. Do you know what it's like to watch thousands of people fall and know that your – your friend is with them? It makes me kinda anxious, that's all I'm saying. So can you just get here already?_

_I know you're not dead. You can't be. And if you are...No. I don't want to think about it. I've lost too much already. I'm not about to lose you, too. Again._

_We don't give a crap if you're human, Cas. I mean, we DO give a crap, 'cause we know how much it all meant to you, but it doesn't change anything. You're still just as important to us. To me. We'll help you._

_I know you'll be here soon. You always come back. So, see you then._


	4. Trap with a Trick

“And they all have apparently suffered from severe head injuries after the asteroids hit, as they keep talking about being angels who have lost their Grace,” the doctor reports.

“Oh, those poor, poor souls. How did they get hurt?” the newscaster asks.

“The force most likely caused an earthquake.”

“Well, our hearts go out to all of those affected by this devastation. Back to you, Darla.”

Dean jabs the pause button on the mouse pad, and the video on the screen stops. He turns to Sam. “So? What should we do with them?”

Sam sighs and rubs his hand on his forehead. He still hasn't recovered from the trials. “Well, there's not much we CAN do right now. We're trying our best, Dean. I mean, Kevin's translating the angel tablet to figure out how to get their Grace back. That's about it.”

Dean groans and stands. He begins pacing around the table. “So, what, we just sit on our asses and wait?” he mutters. He stops, staring at his brother. “I mean, isn't there ANYTHING we can do?” he asks desperately. “Something to just speed up the process?”

Sam bites his lip, thinking. Dean's right. They've been cooped up in here for days, with their only source of information about the outside world being the computer. It had been too risky to go outside, as they thought the angels may have a grudge against them (and really, who could blame them?), but maybe now it was safe?

His eyes suddenly light up. “We could question them,” he announces, shutting the computer with an act of finality. “See if they know anything about Metatron or returning their Grace.”

Dean draws his eyebrows together. “But there are God-knows how many of them, and we have no clue where they are since the trackers in the room over shorted out.”

Sam shrugs. “They're all over the place. We don't have to interview all of them, just a small portion in the nearest hospital.”

Dean nods slowly. “But how do we know which ones are angels? Or, fallen angels, I mean?”

Sam pauses a moment and concentrates. He smiles. “Charlie could hack into the hospital's computer system.”

Dean grins. “Good idea. Go email her.”

Sam flips open the laptop and presses compose. “You think she's still using the same address?”

“It's our best shot.”

  
* * *

  
“You appear to have adapted well, considering you've only been in the 21st century for several weeks,” Castiel says, nodding to Abaddon's cellphone.

Abaddon frowns. “I don't trust this 'internet' phenomenon,” she mumbles, absorbed in a game of solitaire.

Castiel sighs and holds his head in his hands, trying once again to come up with a way out of this situation. There's still about an hour left on the bus ride and he's unable think of anything. It seems inevitable that he'll have to bring her to the Winchesters...

No. He cannot let that happen. He must find some way to trick her, to send her on a different path. But how?

He focuses his every fiber on his mind, searching through the vast caverns of his brain to come up with something, anything. But, as he does this, a new feeling rises up inside him. He pauses in his concentration for a moment, placing this emotion as...anxiety. Extreme anxiety. He feels as if he can't do anything right, that no matter what he tries to do to help the boys it will backfire.

And it has. It's not even some delusion of his. He's a danger to them, a danger to everyone. He tried to kill Raphael, and ended up causing mass destruction as the new God. He wanted to fix it by putting the souls back into Purgatory, but while doing so unleashed the Leviathans. He attempted to shut the gates of Heaven, but instead cast out his entire family, striking them with unnecessary pain.

Plus, all of the times he left the brothers. True, he had done it when he thought he was a danger to them, but looking back he realizes it caused more harm than good. Never again, he vows. Never again shall I leave their side.

He takes an uneven breath and lifts his eyes, shaking his head to calm his nerves. He pulls out the map from his coat pocket and unfolds it, intently inspecting it for signs of an escape. Suddenly, he sees something.

He squints, making sure he's correct.

Yes.

It's there.

His eyes scan the paper as he quickly formulates a plan.

  
* * *

  
“So, basically, anyone admitted to the Smith County Memorial Hospital that's listed as having a head injury will show up here,” Charlie says, pointing to the screen. Names are already appearing rapidly.

“Great,” Dean replies, walking Charlie to the exit. “Thanks for helping. Really.” He hugs her.

“I just hope you can fix them. The world's kinda going crazy,” Charlie responds, shrugging and heading out the door. “Later, bitches,” she calls over her shoulder.

Dean grins and walks back over to Sam, leaning over his shoulder to read the list of people. “Great,” he says to himself. “One of 'em's gotta know something. Come on, Sammy, let's get suited up.”

Sam pulls out a notebook and pen from one of the drawers and copies down the many names as Dean jogs to his room and changes his clothes. His outfit is nice and professional: a simple black jacket with matching pants and shoes with a white shirt and black and blue striped tie. He walks to Kevin's room and knocks on the door.

“Hey, Kevin? Sam and I are just going to the hospital to talk to some patients. We'll be back in a few hours. Don't do anything stupid,” Dean calls.

“I won't,” Kevin yells back.

Dean returns to the computer, where he sees the notebook with all the fallen angels' names printed neatly lying on the desk. He picks it up and stuffs it in his jacket.

“You ready?” Sam says from behind him.  
  
Dean turns. Sam's suit is nearly identical to his own, the only difference being that his brother's tie is red. “Yep. You sure you're up for it?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, I feel a lot better than I did yesterday. I think the symptoms are going away.”

“That's good. Well, let's get out of here,” Dean declares, striding confidently out the door. Sam follows on his heels.

  
* * *

  
  
The bus groans to a stop, spurting out disgusting fumes and gas from its tail end.  
  
Abaddon looks up from her phone and stands. She straightens and walks to the exit, gracefully clacking down the steps. Castiel follows several paces behind her, taking deep breaths. He's extremely nervous, as he knows what he is about to do may result in his execution.

“Before we continue, may I stop inside this store to purchase food?” he asks, waving at the small convenience store to his left. “I haven't eaten in...several months.”

Abaddon sighs, reaching into her pocket and pulling out several crumpled dollar bills. She hands them to him. “Don't take too long.” Stupid humans.

He thanks her and ducks inside. Abaddon waits, impatiently tapping her foot. After several minutes, Castiel emerges, carrying a small white bag filled with snacks. He's greedily biting into a cupcake.

He examines the map, then points north. “We just travel along this way for half a mile, and we'll arrive at our destination,” he says. He begins walking, his feet crunching the rock and sand mixture atop the ground.

They amble along for a good 20 minutes in silence, each consumed with their own thoughts: Abaddon plotting her attack on Crowley; Castiel building up the nerve to carry out his plan. Finally, they come to a fork in the road. Although he already knows which path to take, Castiel consults the map, putting on an act for Abaddon.

“It says to go...right,” he announces, turning in that direction.

Abaddon eyes him suspiciously. “If this is a trick, I will slit your throat,” she says solemnly.

Castiel gulps. “No, no tricks,” he mutters, his voice catching. He quickly averts his eyes and hurries along the dirt path, the trees on each side slowly growing taller. He curses himself for displaying so much emotion. As an angel, he would have been able to hide it completely.

After another 2 minutes, Castiel stops. He squeezes his eyes shut and inhales deeply, then rotates to face Abaddon. “We're here,” he breathes, gesturing to an abandoned gray warehouse well off the road. Although very big, it's mostly obscured by the trees. Cracks are visible on its sides.

Abaddon moves forward to enter, but Castiel interrupts. “Wait,” he grunts. “I have to go in first and make sure Crowley is vulnerable. Come in after 5 minutes to make a surprise attack.”

Abaddon studies him carefully, then nods. “Fair enough,” she agrees. “5 minutes.”

Castiel enters the building and slams the door shut behind him, extremely thankful he'd noticed the warehouse on the map while riding the bus. It's only a quarter mile from the bunker.

He digs into the bottom of his bag from the convenience store and yanks out the small bottle of red spray paint, which had been delicately hidden beneath the mound of food. He glances around the room and spots an old ladder propped up against the opposite wall. He runs over and grabs it, then drags it back to the entrance and positions it on the door. Luckily, the first floor's ceiling is low, making it easy for him to climb up and draw a Devil's Trap on it.

He's sweaty and breathless from the anxiety by the time climbs down and tiredly checks his watch.

30 seconds.

He knocks down the ladder and kicks it to the side, then tosses the white bag to a pillar.

5 seconds.

He holds his breath.

Waits.

1 second.

Abaddon bursts through the door, her eyes glowing a fierce, evil black. She screeches to a halt, however, upon reaching the drawing. She blinks, her pupils and irises returning, and looks around, momentarily confused. She draws a sharp breath.

No.

She slowly let's her gaze drift up, and utters a low growl at the paint.

How could she have been so stupid?!

She whirls around to face Castiel, who is backed up against the wall and edging towards the exit.

“You will pay for this,” she whispers icily.

Her voice cuts into Castiel's skin like a knife.

“Just wait. I'll make your existence so unbearable, you'll wish you were dead.”

Castiel's hand is almost at the door.

“I'll force you to watch as I kill Dean and Sam, and you won't be able to do a thing to stop me!”

Castiel rushes out of the building and races up the path, Abaddon's screams fading behind him. He passes the fork in the road within seconds and reaches the bunker in 3 minutes.

He runs to the door and bangs on it with as much force as he can muster.

“Dean! Sam! Anyone! I need you to help me! It's a matter of extreme importance! Please!”


	5. The Reunion

“Cas?”

“Kevin,” Castiel exhales the prophet's name, grateful someone opened the door to the bunker.

“Where have you been? What happened with the angels?!” Kevin questions, his voice rising in pitch.

“I will explain everything, but first I need assistance,” Castiel says, rushing into the building. “I have Abaddon trapped in an abandoned warehouse down the road. We have to bring her here and lock her in the dungeon that the boys were talking about.”

Kevin draws his eyebrows together and trails behind Castiel. “Abaddon? The demon from the past?”

“Knight of Hell, actually,” Castiel corrects, picking up a spare pair of Devil-Trapped handcuffs from an end table. “But yes, she is from the past. And right now, she is intent on killing all of us. Crowley, especially.”

“But...why?” Kevin asks, following Castiel's lead and snatching several engraved bullets.

“I don't know. She did express extreme disgust at the idea of Crowley being the King of Hell, so perhaps she wishes to take his place.” Castiel bites his lip, the thought frightening him. If Abaddon were to become Queen, she would have Castiel's head on her wall in seconds, along with everyone he cares about.

Kevin loads the bullets into a gun. “Crap. That doesn't sound good.” He grabs a bag and shoves the weapons inside, along with iron chains and an axe.

Castiel shakes his head. “We must hurry. She's dangerous, and may be able to break the Devil's Trap I put her in.”

The two race out the door and down the road, stopping in front of the huge, gray building. Kevin moves to go in, but Castiel places a hand on his arm, making him pause.

“Do not disable her from functioning,” Castiel instructs. “We don't fully know her motivations. The Winchesters may want her able to speak for interrogation, so it is best to keep the axe away from her head.”

Kevin nods and pulls out the gun and handcuffs, handing the latter to Castiel. They slowly walk to the door, hesitating for a moment before throwing it open.

Abaddon stands as still as a statue in the middle of the Devil's Trap, her eyes still burning a deep black. She stares at Castiel as he circles around her, never letting her gaze waver.

While she is distracted, Kevin aims the gun and pulls the trigger, firing a bullet into her brain. A loud bang resounds against the warehouse walls, and Abaddon cries out in pain, taken by surprise and unable to defend herself.

Castiel uses this opportunity to whip out the cuffs and lock her to himself, disabling her from escaping or using her powers.

She snarls at him and punches him square in the jaw. Castiel's head whips back and he stumbles a bit before righting himself. I suppose the Devil's Trap does not limit her physical strengths as it does her demonic ones, he muses, rubbing his chin.

Kevin sneaks up behind Abaddon and crouches low, then quickly wraps the chains around her ankles, binding her. Abaddon yelps and tries to turn, but Kevin grasps her legs and hoists her up over his shoulder, Castiel directly in back, holding her wrists.

They run out of the building and back to the bunker, Abaddon kicking and screaming and squirming the entire way. She tries to get the men to loosen their grips, but they remain strong, their resolve never fading.

“Where is the dungeon located?” Castiel gasps as they burst through the doors of the base, looking around wildly.

“Follow me,” Kevin commands, weaving through the hallways. Castiel obeys, and together they drag Abaddon to the dark room. She protests, though it is weak, as she knows there is no way to escape now. Castiel transfers her to the shackles on the wall, and Kevin locks her in place, before doing a final once-over to ensure that she won't be able to leave.

Abaddon glares at them, pure hatred radiating from her soul. “I will find a way to get out. And when I do, I will destroy you,” she hisses.

Castiel ignores her and pulls Kevin out, shutting the door with finality. He leans against it and lets out a sigh of relief, the teenager mirroring him on the opposite wall.

After a moment, the younger boy opens his eyes and gestures Castiel to follow him to the main room. They sit around the table, Kevin at one end, Castiel at the other. Kevin looks at him expectantly.

“The trials Metatron was having me do weren't the ones to shut the gates of Heaven,” Castiel says after a moment. “They were ingredients for a spell, the final one being an angel's Grace. I had gone back up to Heaven to talk with Naomi, but upon arriving, I found her dead. Metatron then appeared and revealed how it had been his intention all along to expel all the angels. He forced me into a chair and tied me down, then slit my throat to capture my Grace. He sent me back to Earth, and moments later the angels fell.”

Kevin stares at Castiel, absorbing the information. He draws his eyebrows together. “But where does Abaddon come in?”

“I walked along the road for seven hours before coming upon a small town with a motel. The receptionist there kindly agreed to let me stay the night, as it was late and I had traveled far. But when I woke up the next day, Abaddon confronted me and demanded I take her to 'Wherever the Winchesters are', as she put it. She told me she knew Crowley was staying with them, and that it was her goal to kill him.” Castiel stops, furrowing his brow. How DID she know that? he wonders. He shakes his head and continues. “I informed her that I was no longer an angel and could not teleport anymore, so she made me travel with her on a bus. When we got off, I purchased some spray paint without her knowledge and tricked her into going inside the warehouse, which I had painted a Devil's Trap in. You know the rest.”Castiel sighs, suddenly feeling extremely worn out. He looks at Kevin. “What happened with the trials to close Hell? Did Dean succeed in stopping Sam? Where are they?”

Kevin rubs his face tiredly. “They're questioning fallen angels in the nearby hospital right now. Dean was able to get through to Sam before he ended up killing himself, but Sam's really sick right now. Do you know what that's about?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I'm sorry. I wish I did. Does the tablet say anything? You have both now, correct?”

Kevin nods. “Yeah, yeah. I do. But I haven't really been translating that one. I've bee focusing on the angel tablet. Apparently, there are trials someone has to do to return all of the angels' Grace.”

Castiel gazes at Kevin thoughtfully, the idea turning over in his mind. He shakes his head. Now is not the time, he tells himself sternly. “Where is Crowley?”

Kevin points to one of the doors. “In his room. He hasn't left since they came back a few days ago. Dean said that his humanity is only halfway back, because Sam didn't fully complete the trial. But he's not evil anymore, so he's not a threat. Yet,” Kevin adds dangerously. He still remembers all that Crowley has done to him and his family.

Castiel takes a breath to respond, but is interrupted when the front door bangs open and Dean and Sam stomp through.

“Well, that was a complete bust,” Dean grunts, ripping off his jacket angrily and throwing it on a chair. “Shell-shocked. All of 'em. What the Hell happened?”

“They were thrown from the sky, Dean. What did you expect?” Sam sighs, removing his coat and carefully placing it on an end table.

“I expected them to at least be coherent, and not blabbering on about-” Dean's voice fades out as he looks up at the table. His eyes widen, and he freezes. “Cas?”

Castiel's breath hitches and he slowly rises from his chair. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean stares at his friend, slowly looking him up and down. He notices several cuts and bruises on Cas' face, along with dirt caking the sides of his well-worn trench coat. He hesitates, not sure if he wants to hug the guy or slap him. He decides to stay put for now. “Where've you been, man? What happened?”

Castiel exhales slowly. “Metatron slit my throat and used my Grace to expel all the angels. I happened upon a small motel and stayed there for the night, then traveled here by bus today.”

Kevin looks at him curiously, wondering why he left out Abaddon, but Castiel shakes his head at him subtly.

Dean steps forward. “When Metatron sent you back to Earth, did he do it with all the other angels? Or were you separate?”

“He transported me by myself. It didn't hurt, if that's what you mean.”

Dean feels relief flood through him and mentally releases the breath he had been holding ever since he had first seen the angels' wings being ripped off as they plummeted to the ground. For days, he had been worried that Cas went through the same thing. His thankfulness pushes him to wrap his arms around his friend and squeeze him tightly. Castiel hesitates a moment before returning the action.

Dean releases him and gazes into Cas' blue eyes, the comfort at having his friend alive quickly changing into anger. “Why did you leave, Cas? Sam and I, we needed you! If you'd have just stayed put, we wouldn't have to deal with a bunch of traumatized people and a dickhead angel! This is your fault, man.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and glares.

Castiel averts his eyes, knowing he deserves all the blame. “I trusted you to be able to stop Sam by yourself, so I went to talk with Naomi. She was dead when I got there, and Metatron forced me down.” Castiel shakes his head. “I'm sorry, Dean.”

“Sorry's not gonna cut it this time, buddy,” Dean says, his voice hoarse. “How am I supposed to trust someone who always lies?”

Castiel stares at him, a pained look on his face. Dean knows he's hurting him, but he can't seem to stop, even though the torture in the ex-angel's eyes tears him apart.

Suddenly, the moment is interrupted by the sound of rattling chains. Dean looks up, suspicious. “What was that?” he asks.

Castiel bites his lip and looks at the floor.

“Abaddon.”


	6. Connection

“...I'm sorry, what?” Dean asks, his voice dangerous.

Castiel looks down, wishing with all his heart he didn't have to have this conversation. “Abaddon. I – she came after me this morning and forced me to take her here with the intention of killing Crowley.”

Dean can't believe what he's hearing. “What the Hell, Cas?! You brought a freakin' Knight of Hell in here without giving us time to prepare? And why did you leave her out of your little story?!” I don't even remember why I was worried about him, Dean thinks, when all he does is get us into even more trouble.

“I was planning to, but I wanted to wait until you had finished screaming at me!” Castiel exclaims, his temper rising up. “And I didn't just 'bring her here'. I trapped her.”

Dean pauses. “You TRAPPED her? How the Hell did you manage that?”

“I told her to wait outside a warehouse that she thought you were staying in, while I went in and drew a Devil's Trap on the ceiling. She ran into it. I came here and got Kevin to help me move her to your dungeon,” Castiel answers coldly.

Dean hesitates a moment, before saying, “And she fell for it?”  
  
Castiel nods. “She's chained up, waiting for you to interrogate her.”

Dean sighs and rubs his face. “Alright, we'll...” He glances at Sam, who jerks his chin in Cas' direction. Dean catches on and says gruffly, “We'll do that after.”

“After what?” Castiel asks, puzzled.

“After you change your clothes. You've been wearing the same suit for five years,” Dean grunts, eyeing the torn and bloodied coat.

Castiel looks down, alarmed. “But I like my suit,” he says defensively.

Dean rolls his eyes, annoyed. “Come on, man, you're human now, right? That means you've gotta ACT like a human. Humans change their clothes.”

“But I don't have any other clothes,” Castiel protests. “I've never needed anything other than the clothing Jimmy was wearing when I took control of him.”

“So we'll buy you clothes!” Dean says, exasperated. He pinches the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to calm himself down. “But you have to wear something else in the meantime, so...wait here a second.” He runs to his room, reappearing moments later with a plain black t-shirt and a faded pair of jeans. He thrusts them into Cas' hands. “Wash up and put these on,” he mumbles, and stalks back over to the table, where he sits and opens a book on myths.

Sam looks at him, bewildered, before turning to Castiel with an apologetic glance, but Cas isn't paying attention to Sam. Instead, he's staring at the fabrics, a surprised look spreading over his features.

“Thank you for letting me borrow your clothes,” Cas says, wondering if sharing clothing was a normal custom of humans. To him, it seems somewhat intimate, but then again, he doesn't know much about mankind's traditions. Dean doesn't look up from the book, and Cas retreats to one of the many bathrooms to change.

Kevin glances between the other two men in the room. “I'm sorry, did I miss something? Was there some kind of unspoken conversation that just went on?”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Beats me,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders and taking a seat opposite Dean. “So, when Cas comes out, we're going to the clothing store?”

“Then straight back here to give Abaddon a nice little interview,” Dean responds, never lifting his eyes from the text in front of him.

Cas emerges several minutes later, the shirt loose and the pants hanging slightly due to Dean's superior height. His face is cleanly shaved, and his hair messily styled.

Dean's eyes widen slightly at the sight, a weird feeling dropping into the pit of his stomach. He averts his gaze, the image of Cas wearing his clothes making an odd lump appear in his throat.

Cas adjusts the belt of the jeans. “Good?” he asks, turning to Sam.

Sam nods, his lips quirking to the side as he takes in Dean's reaction. “Yep. We can get going now.” He whacks his brother's arm lightly, stirring him from whatever deep thoughts he had been in. Dean starts, then shakes his head, ridding himself of that strange sensation.

The trio moves to the exit, Dean pausing a moment to warn Kevin of Abaddon. “She might find a way to escape,” he says, “So be prepared with a set of cuffs and a gun with Devil's-Trapped bullets. Also an axe.”

“Got it,” Kevin replies, giving a slight wave as the group leaves the building. The door slams, and the boy chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly.

 

* * *

 

"I don't understand.”

“You just take the clothes into the stall, put them on, and if they fit, you change back into the ones you were wearing and buy the new clothes.”

“Why do I have to change back into my original outfit if I'm just going to be wearing the new one?”

“So the cashier can ring it up.”

“But-”

“Just freakin' go inside!” Dean interrupts, shoving Cas through the changing stall's curtain. He turns to Sam, who stands by the side, looking through a small stack of plaid shirts. “No,” Dean tells him, his voice stern.

“I was just looking,” Sam protests, withdrawing his hand guiltily.

“The buttons appear to be non-functioning,” Cas calls through the curtain.

“So take the shirt off,” Dean yells back.

“I can't. It's – It's stuck. I need assistance.”

Dean flushes bright red. “I can't – how am I going to-”

“Go in and help him,” Sam cuts in, stifling his laughter.

Dean glares at him. “It's not funny,” he mutters angrily, stomping past the fabric.

The room is tiny, only about 10 square feet. Cas is wrestling with a white button down, and Dean immediately sees that it's way too small for him. Several of the buttons are popped, and the cloth is spread tightly over Cas' chest. Dean sets his eyes on the wall, determined not to stare at the sight.

“How do I get out of this?” Cas grumbles, attempting to squeeze his arm under the bottom edge and lift the shirt over his head.

Dean, still not looking at him, steps forward and pulls on the sleeve of the shirt. Cas slips his arm out, and Dean yanks the shirt off Cas' body. The force makes the latter stumble back, hitting the wall of the booth.

Dean checks the tag on the shirt. “'Small',” he reads, then tosses aside the fabric. “And I'm a Large, so you must be a Medium.”

Cas gestures to a small pile of clothes on the nearby bench. “Those are Medium.”

Dean nods, suddenly realizing that Cas' chest is completely bare. He coughs, then shuffles out of the stall. “I'll, um, leave you to it.”

He backs into Sam, who snickers behind his hand. At Dean's look, he gives an apologetic grin. “It's pretty funny,” he chuckles.

Dean sits in a chair and crosses his arms, praying for Cas to hurry up so they can get the Hell out of here and back to the bunker, where Abaddon is waiting.

 

* * *

 

“So tell us: why do you want to kill Crowley?” Dean asks casually, leaning against a torture table. Sam mirrors him.

“He's the King of Hell. I think he's not fit for the job, and I am,” Abaddon replies.

“But what else?” Dean says, slamming his hands down. “It can't just be that. It's too small. There's gotta be something something more.”

Abaddon presses her red lips together and smiles. She shakes her head.

Dean growls and punches her in the face. Her nose breaks, but she doesn't even flinch, only grin evilly.

Sam sighs and drags Dean out of the dungeon.“What are you doing?” Dean whispers as the door shuts behind them.

“She's not gonna answer, no matter how much we hurt her. We have to come up with a better plan.”

Dean groans, but knows that Sam is right. He reluctantly follows his brother to the main room, where Kevin sits, chatting with Cas. Dean raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “What's going on here?” he questions.

Kevin looks up. “Nothing. Just talking.”

“About what?”

“Stuff. Tablet stuff.”

“Tablet stuff?” Dean says, his voice rising. “What kind of tablet stuff? And why did you feel the need to keep it from Sam and me?”

“Because it's not really anything, just some theories. Cas was curious, so I told him. It's nothing in particular.”

Dean shakes his head angrily. “Whatever. I'm going to bed,” he mumbles, stalking off to his room.

Sam looks in his direction, a mildly concerned look on his face, but resolves not to go after him. He rubs his hands on his face, suddenly extremely tired. “I don't really feel well, so I'm gonna go to sleep, too, I guess,” he says, the heat in the room making his vision go hazy. “Trial aftereffects.” He stumbles past them to his room, collapsing into his bed.

Cas looks at Kevin. “Are you going to follow their lead?” he inquires.

Kevin shrugs, then yawns. “Yeah, I guess so. Do you...I mean, did Dean say anything about a room, or...?” At Cas' shake of his head, Kevin glances around the room, eyes finally settling on the red leather couch. “You wanna sleep there?”

Cas sighs, nodding. “Yes, that's fine,” he replies, picking up his freshly washed trench coat and bringing it over to the couch to use as a makeshift blanket.

Kevin bids him goodnight, and heads to his own room. Cas carefully lies down on the sleek leather. He stares at the ceiling, feeling the heavy weight of depression settle over him.

 

* * *

 

Dean softly shuts the door to his room, careful not to wake the rest of the bunker. He's been tossing and turning for hours, knowing that he needs to talk to Cas. He finally gathered his courage at 3:12 AM and left the comfort of his bed to speak to his friend, who he knows is also most likely still up. He quietly shuffles to the main room, and, sure enough, Cas is sitting at the table, staring off into space. Dean silently comes over and sits in the chair besides Castiel, which startles him.

Cas glances over at Dean, then looks at the surface of the table, not knowing what to say.

Dean takes a breath. “I'm sorry,” he starts. “I'm sorry for how I acted today. I treated you like an enemy instead of my – my best friend, so...I'm sorry. Again.”

Cas lifts his eyes. “I deserved it,” he whispers. “You're and Sam's kindness towards me today was remarkable. I understand if you want me to leave. I've caused enough trouble already, and I know I'm a burden. I only returned to make sure you and your brother were alive and well. I'm sorry I've hurt you so much, Dean.”

Dean stares at him. “What are you talking about?” he says sharply. “You really think that? I mean, sure, you've made a lot of mistakes. Heck, the one you made a few days ago is gonna take a hell of a lot to fix, but you're still family. And if you know anything about me, it's that I think family comes before anything else. I was mad at you today because you made me really worried, Cas. I thought you were dead, or at least half crazy like the rest of the angels. And then you showed up, as if nothing had happened, and I just – I was annoyed because you put me through a lot. That's all.”

Castiel looks down, ashamed. “I apologize for making you feel that way.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Cas, it's a normal thing, it's not your fault,” he says, exasperated. He gazes at him. “I'm really, really glad you're alive, man. I didn't think I'd see you again. But you always manage to find a way back, don't you?” He smiles warmly at him, but it doesn't last long. He takes a shuddery breath. “But...I don't take back what I said. I still don't trust you. You shouldn't feel bad about the mistakes you made, cause that's in the past, but...you still made them. And I can't just ignore them and pretend they never happened.” He looks at him earnestly. “I care about you, Cas. But you're gonna have to really work at being loyal.”

Castiel's blue eyes bore into Dean's green ones. “What will it take to win your trust back?” he asks softly.

Dean stares back, searching Cas' face. “I don't know. You tell me.”

 


	7. Hypnosis

The thing about books is they tend to make much more sense than real life.

Each story has a neat little arc: Exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution. He's spent years reading them; he's memorized the formula exactly.

But real life – well, it's far more messy. There's no rhythm, no pattern to anything. Everyone gets abandoned by the one thing they thought they could trust the most.

In his case, it's his family.

His father was the first to go. Just packed his bags and left the building, leaving his sons and daughters to fend for themselves. But with no God to turn to, his brothers and sisters had gone to the dark side.

That was a phrase he picked up from the comic books.

Heaven had been in complete chaos, and even though he'd tried to call order, to talk about his beloved tablets, no one had listened. So he'd left.

Until the Winchesters arrived.

He'd quickly realized he could get revenge on his brethren by using Sam, Dean, and Castiel, and formulated a plan to do so.

He'd succeeded, and now he could spend every waking moment alone in Heaven reading books.

He is content.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure there is no way I can be of assistance?” Castiel persists, following Dean into the kitchen. The brothers are about to go on a hunt – just a simple ghost, nothing too spectacular – and they told Cas to stay at the bunker, afraid he'll mess everything up.

“Sorry, buddy, you're just gonna have to sit this one out until you can get better control of your human-ness,” Dean replies, shoving some salt into his duffel bag.

Castiel sighs and retreats, collapsing onto the soft couch and staring at the wall.

“Sammy! Get a move on, we've got to go!” Dean calls. Sam stumbles into the room, his own bag slung over his shoulder. After a small wave to Cas, the boys bang out the door, and soon the engine is roaring and the Impala is speeding away.

Castiel leans back against the leather, glancing around the room. He's unsure what to do with himself, as the Winchesters specifically instructed him to NOT interfere with anything.

But...they've been so kind to him, especially after all the damage he has caused; it only seems natural to try and repay them in some way. Maybe...maybe he can somehow interrogate Abaddon – attempt to gather some information on her unknown plans. It's the least he can do. And nothing bad can happen; she's locked up completely.

With this new goal in mind, he weaves his way through the building and into the dark, cramped dungeon. He was only in here for several minutes before, so he now seizes the opportunity to fully notice what the room looks like. It's built with large, stone bricks, each about the size of one's fist. Water drips from hidden pipes in the walls, and symbols are painted on every surface. Chains and tables are set up everywhere. On the far right corner hangs Abaddon, with every kind of metal wrapped around her. He slowly approaches her. “Hello, Abaddon,” he says, his voice dark.

She grins and looks up. “Castiel,” she welcomes. “What a nice way to start my day.”

“Shut up,” Cas commands.

Abaddon widens her eyes, taken aback by his powerful attitude. “What can I do for you?” she asks.

Cas hesitates, unsure on how to go about the interrogation. “I would like to know what your plans are,” he states simply after several seconds.

Abaddon laughs. “To kill Crowley, of course.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Yes, but what else? There's more to it than just that.”

Abaddon smiles and makes a zipping motion with her lips. “I'll tell you if you unlock me,” she says in a sing-song voice.

Cas looks her in the eyes, about to say something, when suddenly...an odd feeling spreads over him...

It's like...he can't seem to move his body, or think of anything...he can only stare at Abaddon...

He doesn't even realize it when he raises the key and unlocks the handcuffs, then unwraps all the chains...and then...Abaddon gently places two fingers on his forehead...and...he...

All goes black.

 

* * *

 

“Well, that was a complete waste of time,” Dean sighs, bursting through the door of the bunker. It's only been about 36 hours since they left, but they quickly saw when they arrived in the town that there was no supernatural activity, and staying any longer was pointless.

Sam drops their stuff onto the floor and shuffles down to his room, having had no sleep for the past day and a half.

Dean had managed to catch a few hours since Sam offered to drive first, so he goes into the kitchen, where he grabs an apple and a bottle of water. “Hey, Cas,” he calls out. “Didn't I tell you to go food shopping? All we've got is a bunch of fruit.”

When no one responds, Dean draws his eyebrows together and steps forward. “Cas?” he yells. A small shuffling is heard from the dungeon, and Dean, confused, heads toward it. He slowly opens the door to the dungeon, and inhales sharply at the sight.

Instead of seeing Abaddon, he sees Cas chained up with blood dripping down the side of his face and a small cloth wrapped around his mouth. “Cas?” Dean says, his voice hollow. “What the...what the Hell happened? Are you okay? Where's Abaddon?!” he shouts, unlocking the handcuffs and ripping the cloth away.

“I came in here yesterday to try and question her, but she hypnotized me into – into letting her out of her traps. She knocked me out and I woke up like this, with her nowhere in sight,” Cas gasps. He looks up at Dean worriedly. “I'm – I'm sorry.”

Dean stares at Cas for a long moment. “You...you unlocked Abaddon,” he says softly.

Cas averts his eyes. “I – yes, I did, but she – she hypnotized me and – I'm truly sorry, Dean.”

Dean lets out a humorless chuckle. “I told you to really work hard at earning my trust back. So what's the first thing you do? You let the demon go.” He gazes at Castiel, and the fallen angel can sense the loyalty breaking, the pain in Dean's voice.

Unfamiliar tears prick Cas' eyes. “I'm sorry,” he repeats.

Dean shakes his head. “I can't do this anymore,” he says, all emotion gone. He pulls Cas out the door and to the main room, where he throws one of the duffel bags to him. “There's weapons and some money in there,” he says gruffly.

Cas looks at him, confused. “Why are you...” his eyes widen in realization, and his breath catches in his throat. “Dean?”

“You have to go. I don't care if you're sorry, just go. Get out. Please.” Dean stares at him coldly before opening the door.

Cas clutches the bag and gazes at Dean. After a moment, he nods and steps out of the bunker. The door slams behind him.

Kevin shuffles into the room, yawning tiredly. He glances around. “Where's Sam?” he asks.

“In his room,” Dean responds, taking off his jacket.

“And Cas?”

Dean stops for a moment, closing his eyes. He clears his throat. “Gone.”

Kevin furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he's gone. He did too many things wrong, and we can't trust him. He's gone.”

Kevin bites his lip, unsure of how to respond. He can tell Dean is suppressing his emotions, pushing them back to the farthest parts of his mind until he can no longer feel them. But Kevin knows that at some point, those feelings will resurface and cause his friend the worst pain imaginable.

Once Dean goes to his room, Kevin hurries out the door and walks for several minutes until he finds Cas.

“Kevin,” Castiel greets, putting down the duffel bag.

“Dean doesn't know I'm here,” Kevin says. “I - I think my theory was right.”

Cas looks at him, interested. “Really?” he asks curiously.

“Yeah. There are three trials, like the others, except these will return an angel's grace.” Kevin reaches into his jacket and pulls out the angel tablet. “I've only figured out one so far, but...when I've translated the rest, would you be up to completing them?”

Cas takes the tablet and stares at it, feeling it's weight in his hands. He shrugs. “I'm not good for much else, so if there's anything I can do to help...yes. I'll do the trials. What's the first one?”

Kevin grins. “Acquire the wings of an angel,” he quotes.

Cas looks at him, puzzled. “But...there are no more angels,” he replies.

Kevin looks up at the sky. “Except for one.”

Cas follows Kevin's gaze, then gives a small smile. “Metatron,” he whispers.


End file.
